Love Is Foolish
by Kyonomiko
Summary: Love is powerful, but love is foolish. Hermione Granger impulsively lets her broken heart guide her and loses more than she calculates in order to save her lover. Dramione time trope with a twist
1. The Way Things Were

Chapter 1: The Way Things Were

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, the world, or even the trope!

The day Hermione Granger boarded the Hogwarts Express for the first time was the happiest in her young life. There was magic, _real_ magic in the world. All of those times she couldn't explain something with science, the moments in her life when something had not made logical sense, suddenly justified and obvious. It added to her confidence of knowledge. Just when she had started to think logic had failed her, she discovered she simply needed a new perspective.

She knew it would be hard to fit in of course. Having been born in the non-magic world, it would be hard to fit into a new culture. But, she told herself, no more difficult than transitioning to a school in, let's say, another country. She would learn the food and dress in robes and fit right in, no problem.

It hadn't really been as easy as she'd expected. The pureblooded girls were more aristocracy than anything. She imagined they would have made it hard to fit in even if she were not "muggle born". Such a silly phrase, Hermione thinks. _Muggle_. What kind of childish word is that?

The children with less than stellar lineage were a little kinder but only marginally. That freckly Weasley boy was a right horror to her early on. His friend, Harry, seemed nice enough. But then Harry had a muggle Mum so that made sense. She'd been sorted into Gryffindor house on her first day, though she personally thought the hat had made a mistake.

 _"Ravenclaw"_ , she'd whispered at it. It scoffed a little, as much as a beat up old hat can scoff inside your head.

"Slytherin, if I'm honest. But I don't know that you'd be as happy there. Mostly purebloods, they are. You've the intellect for Ravenclaw no doubt. But no, there is more, something bold in your old soul. You've not the detached love of knowledge for that house. You wield it instead as a weapon. No I think, all things averaging, it better be...

Gryffindor!"

It had shouted out its verdict and a table of red and gold accessorized students cheered for their new member. She'd blushed a little and tucked her hair behind her ears, seating herself next to a nervous boy who she had met on the train named Neville. He seemed safe enough. Sweet and unassuming, just her speed on a first day.

She met other house members that day. It seemed that nasty Weasley had a score of other siblings. His twin brothers were actually pretty welcoming, though they made her wary. Something about them screamed 'don't take anything they offer'. His brother, Percy she was told, was on his way to making prefect. He seemed a respectable sort so she smiled at him especially bright when introduced and he politely shook her hand. She also met the roguish and aforementioned Harry Potter, who already seemed to have surrounded himself with a little harem of pretty girls.

She roomed with a vapid blonde named "Lavender" of all things but then again, people named after obscure Shakespearean characters probably shouldn't throw stones...

Though no one was overtly unkind, it wasn't until her first day of classes that she started to find a place. The moment she walked into Potions, she knew she had found her first love. The professor, a taciturn man in his early thirties, breezed into the room in a cloak as black as night, his hair tied low at his neck, and proceeded to demean the students in the most dignified and eloquent manner. Hermione nearly could have had a crush on him simply for his lovely grammar, but what really won her heart, was, as her new favourite person said, "the _art_ that is potion making." She took to it brilliantly and her professor offered what she imagined was probably a rare smile.

None of this won her any friends with the Gryffindor crew who seemed to find distaste with overly studious types, but the Slytherins with whom she shared a class seemed to offer her a modicum of respect since Professor Snape was their head of house. By chance, she'd been seated next to a tall boy with dark skin named Blaise. He offered her an impressed and appraising glance when she deftly answered the Professor's questions. To her left, a boy with platinum blond hair and piercing eyes gave her a friendly nod and she looked down to hide her blush.

The troll incident changed everything that year.

She didn't mean to be so sensitive. Usually, Hermione was capable of taking quite a bit in a stride. After all, being a bright student didn't exactly relate to winning popularity contests in the muggle world either. But when that nasty red-headed boy said she was a "nightmare" and mused it was why she had no friends, only to be met by snickers and not one word of protest by her house, she dashed away like the devil was at her heels and decided to award herself a good pity cry.

She would be told later that Harry Potter had noticed she was gone. Though he was mildly concerned, he shrugged and went about his business. It was a Slytherin who overheard the conversation and excused herself to find the lost witch.

Pansy found Hermione with a mildly interested Draco Malfoy on her tail. They'd been friends forever and he refused to let Pansy sneak about on her own. In the end, it was Hermione's perfect Leviosa that took out the troll with his own club, but it was Draco's diversion of the beast that allowed her the opportunity.

When the troll toppled he nearly crushed Hermione had it not been for Draco dragging her out of the way and shielding her with his thin, adolescent frame. She looked up into his face and blushed, whispering "thank you" as a curl fell in front of her eyes.

He pushed it back for her and she was lost.

In the years that followed, the rumblings of war changed the landscape of their relationship. Hermione was relieved to find that the Malfoys, having found Voldemort to be a madman, and not completely successful one, during his first rise, had reformed their opinions on blood purity. Though Narcissa seemed to be disappointed that Draco's new friend was not a part of their usual society, it seemed to be more of a mourning of tradition than a true issue with Hermione in any tangible way. Hermione could understand tradition and worked very hard to make sure she was worth it.

In fourth year, the Tri-Wizard tournament turned Hogwarts into an entirely new experience. Everyone was shocked when the cup called for Neville Longbottom, Hermione's very first sweet friend, to compete in the games. She, Pansy Parkinson, and Draco worked tirelessly to help him crack the codes of each event.

In the middle of all this, the event called for a ball to be held. Pansy was sure Draco was going to ask her. She, Hermione, and Draco had been an inseparable trio for the past 3 and some odd years. But Pansy always assumed when it came down to it, he would choose her. They'd known each other forever and, if she's honest, she had crushed on the blonde boy for nearly as long. Plus, she was pureblood. Though she didn't have anything against her dear friend Hermione, Pansy couldn't help but feel she and Draco just… belonged together.

Before the ball, Pansy had turned down six invitations, holding out for her first choice, only to stumble on Draco and Hermione standing by the Black Lake, their hands held between them in a disgustingly sweet way.

They didn't speak for weeks. At the ball, Hermione managed to tame her wild hair and looked just _stupid_ beautiful and Pansy pouted the night away. Her date ended up being Neville and she wasn't sure who was the "pity date" between them.

When Neville was sent to the bottom of the lake to find the person who meant the most to him, that question was answered for anyone who wondered. He managed to bring Pansy to the surface with his extensive knowledge of herbology and when she woke, shivering, black hair dripping in her face, he hugged her fiercely and she smiled a shy smile into his shoulder. The trio became a quad forever after that.

By the final task, it seemed the Order of the Phoenix decided they'd had enough. Breaking all rules with absolutely no care, the tournament was interrupted and the efforts to which Voldemort had gone to advance his agenda were put to an end. He'd been relatively quiet for some years by this point. Any question that he was gone for good was answered and the Order become a viable part of the Ministry to keep the self-proclaimed Dark Lord in check.

As the Hogwarts years advanced and reached their end, Hermione and Draco solidified their playful crush into young love. The war around them turned their hearts serious and they aged faster than they should. Hermione continued to study with Professor Snape more than some might have considered normal. She likewise became acquainted with Remus Lupin and Harry Potter's father, James. Snape and James had a strange friendship she barely understood. Snape had been childhood friends with James' wife, Lily, who had died when Harry was a young boy, not quite of age to start his Hogwarts education. The two had never liked one another but bonded over her loss and found solace reminiscing together.

After their seventh year, both Hermione and Draco became involved with the Order. The threat of Tom Riddle had felt far away for a time but he seemed to keep coming back until he was impossible to ignore. There was something relentless about the creature and it wasn't until Hermione was a young woman of twenty two was she privy to information as to why.

Horcruxes were a problem. There was no reason he should still be such an issue except that he literally _couldn't die_. But knowing that, things start to fall into place for The Order and one by one, pieces of a dark wizard's soul scream in anguish when they are destroyed by fire or venom.

The memories continue to come in a blur of platinum hair and secret meetings at the ministry and finally blood on the grassy earth…

Sitting in the middle of a lush green field, Hogwarts looming just behind, she is on her knees, cradling a body, one other laying mere meters away. The other lies still, having taken an Avada from her own wand only moments ago. The rest of the field is nearly bare. Voldemort so kindly allowed them to move their injured and dead before the final confrontation and now you could almost deny the second wizarding war happened in this beautiful place. Her friends, the Order, she assumes have retreated into the castle. There are, after all, other wounded to which they must attend.

She didn't know his name, the other man lying in the dirt. His Death Eater mask rolled away as he fell, but she didn't particularly care in that second nor does she care now as to his identity.

Instead her shaking hands smooth blond hair out of wide grey eyes. His broken words are apologies and laments. "Sorry… forgive me…" over and over. She weeps for him to hush, to never be sorry. There is no need as long as he will just hold on. For her. The forever he promised her isn't lost as long as he will just stay with her. The Dark Lord is vanquished. The terror under which they've lived is finally over and everything will be good again. All he has to do is hold on while she casts healing spell after healing spell, trying to stop the steady flow of bright blood that comes from many… _so many_ places.

Her breath hitches and she feels his hand lay over hers, lowering her wand. The curse keeps his wounds pumping, regardless of how many times she knits the flesh together. More than anything, it just causes pain, each time the skin tears itself open again. He asks her to please stop. Please just hold him until it's over. Please…

Sobbing, she nods and lowers her wand to the ground. She lifts both hands to his pale cheeks and lowers her forehead to lay gently against his, holding his gaze and whispering her love. She thinks he says it back but it's hard to tell. He's so quiet. So still. And she realizes he isn't blinking, isn't breathing. The blood continues to seep from his wounds, draining into the ground around them.

She says "no" to him petulantly. She says "no" and "no" and "no" to him and to herself and screams it and shakes him and collapses into great choking sobs, beating his silent chest.

The young woman looks around at the empty field and then down into Draco Malfoy's beautiful face. Her wand is back in her hand without thinking, coated in her lover's blood, dripping red as her hand shakes. The words come unbidden, the wand movements like a memory. And then the sky is swirling dark and she looks up to see a Centaur looking at her curiously from the edges of the Forbidden Forest. His face is slowly morphing into something she has never seen on any of the stoic creatures' faces.

He is terrified.

Then he breaks his gaze away and looks up at the sky. The night is coming unnaturally fast and the stars above swirl amongst the clouds. She watches as the creature drops slowly to the ground, continuing to gaze overhead. The fear of what she has done comes then but it, like everything else, is numbed in her grief and so she looks back down at her lover's face. The black tumultuous sky is reflected in his eyes until she delicately closes the lids and lays down beside him. She thinks she feels the world ripped away from her and clings to Draco, nuzzling her face into his neck, until she knows nothing else.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

All of these things are true and yet they are false. The only constant being the conclusion. At the end of the memories of Hermione as a battle worn witch of twenty four and then also in the here and now, she is staring in horror at the body of Malfoy.

Draco.

Here, today, Harry is standing over him, helplessly lamenting "I didn't mean to. I didn't know…"

And then, thank Merlin, Snape is there. He is casting a counter curse and glaring at Harry with disdain but Hermione hardly sees any of this. Instead she stares at the blood pooling on the floor and she's sobbing and shaking and repeating "no" softly and she sees clearly for the first time in a lifetime.

When her legs give out, she slumps to the tile, heedless of Snape barking at her to get back to her common room and for Potter to bring some book. None of it matters as she watches a stream of blood, Draco's life, slowly crawl to a center floor drain.

"Ms. Granger I've no time to comfort a weak-minded girl who goes to pieces over the sight of blood. Now get up and get to your common room. Now!"

She looks to him and then back to Draco, his face paling impossibly more. "Severus, do something…" is all she can manage. The surprise on Snape's face is palpable if she'd been in the right mind to notice such a thing.

"Potter, get the book and take Ms. Granger with you. Bring the book to the hospital wing and for the love of Merlin leave that girl there."

"Yes, professor."

She has barely registered the exchange but when Harry takes her arm in an attempt to hoist her up she struggles and looks at him in terror. "I'm not leaving him!"

Harry is puzzled and scared and shocked but he just says, "Professor Snape will take care of him but he has to go to Pomfrey. There's no reason to stay here. C'mon, 'Mione." He tugs again and this time she allows herself to be lifted and wills her numb legs to follow, holding Harry's hand and keeping her eyes on Draco lying on cold tile, bleeding out into the drain.

Her mind is splintered, thoughts barely coherent. When they reach the corridor and the door closes, Hermione panics at the loss of visual on their classmate.

"No! I have to stay with him! Harry, let me go! Let me go!"

He protests and drags her and then she rounds on him, wand drawn and Harry knows real fear from the look on her face. "What did you do to him!?"

"I don't know! I…it was a spell from the…from a book."

Her eyes narrow and dart around as if she is lost in momentary confusion. "The potions book? That bloody book I begged you not to- Oh my God, Harry, what if you've killed him?" Her legs start to give out and then Harry is there holding her up, not really understanding her reaction.

"He'll be fine, Hermione. Snape will take care of him. Let's get you settled in the common room and we'll check on him, yeah?"

She nods, the fight having gone out of her again. Harry finds her to be erratic, nearly manic in her rapid changes. Sliding an arm around her, he begins to lead her down the hall, hoping to get around the corner before Snape emerges with Malfoy, lest it set her off once again. He breathes a sigh when they reach the Fat Lady and she allows them inside.

Ron Weasley looks up from a game of Wizarding chess and immediately approaches the pair. Before he reaches them, Hermione sinks into one of the plush cushioned seats. She mumbling now and Ron exchanges a look with his friend. "Blimey, Harry, what happened to her?"

"It's all changed. It's changed and I did it and it worked and now he's… oh God please no not after… I can't. I can't." Sobs take over them from her incoherent ramblings and Harry shakes his head at his friend.

"I don't know but I'm in trouble Ron. That book, the potion book. I need to borrow yours and I need you to stash the other alright? I've got to get back and I'll fill you in later just…" He looks down at Hermione who has taken to rocking herself, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Just get me the book please and take care of her."

Ron nods and soon Harry has left the room. Awkwardly, Ron sits beside his friend and puts an arm on her shoulder. "'Mione?"

"Ron, I've done something terrible," is all she says before she falls into another round of rattling sobs. They sit that way until Harry returns with a Calming Draught from Pomfrey which Hermione reluctantly drinks, somehow knowing she is of no use to anyone, including herself in her current state.

Once the potion takes effect however, it's like a different girl… a different woman is in front of them. "I've got to speak with Dumbledore," she announces to her friends. Her voice carries authority and suddenly her demeanor is sure and strong. "And I need to see to Draco."

She's up and across room, slipping through the portrait before they can seem to respond.

"What do you reckon all that was about?"

Harry just shakes his head before trudging up the stairs to his dorm, promising himself a long night's sleep.

 **A/N**

 **Good evening! When my muse abandoned me on First They Came for the Death Eaters while I was pregnant, I played around a bit with a time trope. Originally it was going to be epic. A massive, potentially 200k monster. Unfortunately, one of the hallmarks of a great writer is patience and I just don't have it. So instead I turned it into a bite size short story in 5 parts and they are written. I plan to post one each day or so until it's finished, just taking a moment between updates for one last edit. As always, I work with no beta so I apologize for typos and any other mistakes. I'm hoping a positive response might spur me back into action on my other WIP which is currently a victim of me questioning myself and second guessing where to take it. So here is a writer's standard plea for reviews.**

 **Plea!**

 **Plea!**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	2. The Way Things Are

Chapter 2: The Way Things Are

He's heard that muggles say your life "flashes before your eyes" when you're dying. He's not sure where precisely he's heard that, (a muggle-born perhaps) being as he's never met an actual muggle. He's seen them of course, mostly at the manor in the past few wretched months. Never would the halls of Malfoy Manor have been tainted before with the inferior animals. But things are different now. The animals are entertainment of a most nauseating nature.

Draco Malfoy gurgles and sputters and tries to scream but no real sound seems to escape. Strained whimpers are the most he can manage between ragged breaths.

Looking wild-eyed around the usually abandoned bathroom, his gaze lands first on Potter. The scarred, would-be hero looks shocked and a little terrified. Draco muses, if one can muse while they lie dying, that the stupid git probably didn't even know what the hex he used would do. What a bloody tosser.

The door opens and the next person in the room is Potter's pet muggle, all bushy-haired and looking even more horrified than her cohort. Draco is vaguely aware that she is shoved out of the way and then Snape is over him, yelling at Potter and muttering counter-curses. He wants to look at his professor and beg him to save his life and make promises, hollow or otherwise, to a deity or Merlin or Looney Lovegood's wrackspurts if that would have any effect.

Instead, he has locked his eyes on Hermione Granger and watching in detached fascination as her face falls apart. It's disconcerting and surprising and even frightening to see the level of dread destroy her usually collected, swotty features. A shaking hand reaches up to cover her mouth that is gaped in a silent scream.

The flashes of life continue and he remembers the first time he laid eyes on her.

Draco Malfoy stalks through the Hogwarts Express with a confident gait. Some would say over confident for a firstie.

But he's a Malfoy, Ladies and Gents. _Some_ might say that, but surely not to his face.

His family is one of the oldest, purest, wealthiest, most powerful in the wizarding world and he has been made palpably aware of this fact for eleven years. Today he needs to earn his right to the name and title. His Father gave him a task; a political goal. He is to find and befriend Harry Potter.

Draco honestly doesn't know what the fuss is about; some stupid half-blood raised by muggles. But Lucius was adamant. He's under the distinct impression there is more to this than the knowledge to which he is privy (it can't just be that "boy who lived" rubbish right?), but regardless he intends to do his family proud.

When he finally finds the boy and offers his friendship, the pompous arse has the nerve, the utter gall, to throw the opportunity away. For a _Weasley_. Draco is disgusted to say the least. His Father will hear about this.

Crabbe and Goyle fall into place and follow Draco, allowing him to find the train car of his choice where they will obediently sit.

A girl comes then, and asks, of all things, if he has "seen a toad". She's well spoken with proper grammar, signs of having been properly schooled, usually indicative of a wealthier witch as opposed to the badly educated poor set that will struggle through their first year. Her tone is a bit bossy but then, so is Pansy Parkinson so that's nothing new. He looks her up and down, noting she is wearing new robes, obviously freshly pressed, and her shoes are shiny enough to nearly look up her skirt were he so inclined. She's a pretty enough face, though her hair is a bit of a fright. All in all, he's surprised he doesn't know her _. Must be a half-blood_ , he thinks with mild distaste.

It's only after a short conversation in which he is able to glean she is a mudblood. The kind his parents have always warned him about. Those vermin that would infect their world. Bring the muggle hordes to destroy their way of life. He is quick to shut down the possibility of future interaction with assertive sureness.

When she leaves he looks at his minions and scoffs. The nerve of some jumped up mudblood trying to talk to a Malfoy.

In second year, Draco is distracted by the Chamber and the rumblings of gossip as to whom he can attribute in opening the ancient room.

In the Slytherin dorms, Draco talks a big game. He would "shake the hand" of the one responsible, he attests. Truthfully he is a little sickened the first time he sees a petrified student. He tells that little mudblood Granger he hopes she's next. It seems an expected thing to say. He doubts she even knows what mudblood means so he figures no real harm done. He knows she finds out later and gives him a look across the Great Hall that is entirely wounded and it makes him feel a modicum of guilt. Only a little mind you. Really, it's just a word.

When Granger finds herself at the other end of the Basilisks gaze and spends many nights frozen with a look of abject terror on her face, Draco sneaks to her bedside one night to whisper, "Sorry, Granger" knowing she'll never find out. It manages to assuage his guilt.

He continues to boisterously revel in the goings on of the Chamber until Potter and his red-headed shadow find a way to destroy the beast inside. His reputation secure, no one will ever know about the night he snuck into the hospital wing and stood at Hermione's bedside.

Draco's third year, the know-it-all bint hit him in the face. One thing he had always thought was that Granger, though a filthy muggle, seemed to have been raised with education and poise by what must be weathly muggles, by muggle standards. Therefore he was completely blindsided when she hauled off and broke his perfect nose. Pansy might be mouthy, Daphne might use cutting words, Millicent might be a bit of a lumbering cow, but he's never known a witch who would use such force.

He would never, under pain of death, admit that he found it a little intriguing. Aggravating of course. Infuriating even. But there is this little niggling feeling of respect and maybe even fear for the passionate girl. Her dark eyes had narrowed to slits and, in retrospect, he probably should have seen the warning signs that he'd pushed too far. Her frizzy hair swinging around her face was nearly a living thing and then it was too late for warnings and Draco was on the ground, gazing up at the most powerful girl he knew with just an ounce of awe, holding his nose as the blood dripped on his tie.

In fourth year, the pressure from his Father built until it was a tower looming over him every day. Potter was participating in the tournament and the entire school was fawning over students from various schools. Krum, a certified Quidditch star, the chief among them.

Imagine how Draco had scoffed to his friends when he heard the news. Krum had invited none other than Potter's mudblood as his date to the ball. Standing with his friends, watching as each couple enters the room, Draco sneers and laughs at the folly of the older boy. He imagines Granger, outside of the normalcy of wizarding robes, will arrive in some awkward muggle attire and make a fool out of herself. He's positive she won't know how to dance or walk in proper shoes or behave as a civilized witch.

His surprise is palpable when she does none of these things. Instead, Hermione Granger enters the room with one hand tucked delicately on Krum's arm, a pretty pink blush on her cheeks as she notices the room look toward her. Her gown is well made, a natural fabric by the looks of it. Draco has isn't certain what kind but has no doubt Narcissa could tell him simply by the way the material sways. The bodice hugs her figure and Draco can tell for the first time that the witch is starting to develop more mature curves than many of their classmates. He is reminded she is almost a full year older and suddenly that much is obvious. Her usually wild mane is tamed into silky curls that are piled on her head. She has cheekbones about which he never knew, not to mention hips, breasts, defined collar bones, dainty feet that are strapped into graceful heels, trim ankles, and her eyes...

With her nest of hair pulled back into lush curls, her large, expressive eyes could captivate a room. Dark and deep and full of warmth, he could drown in them.

"Look, even a mudblood can clean up with enough glamour charms," Theo Nott sneers from Draco's left. He feigns indifference and lets his gaze scan the room again (though the pull to drink her in remains and he has to force himself not to).

 _Not glamour charms_ , he thinks. He's relatively adept at observations about people and there is nothing about Hermione Granger that is not genuine tonight. If he thinks back on it, those eyes and lips and pretty pretty cheekbones were always there. He just hadn't prioritized her appearance enough to notice. Or perhaps he had but didn't linger. It was easy when she was scowling at him, hands on her hips, _knowing_ everything, to only focus on what he expects from her, given her heritage. Now, watching her from afar with a smile alighting her face, she is a young woman with passion and intellect and _curves_.

It's only when Granger looks his direction is the spell broken and he realizes he has been staring again despite his efforts to look away. Her delicate smile falls and her lips part slightly. He licks his own subconsciously and sees her blink, long lashes tickling her face. She looks away, blush deepening and Draco finally manages to place his eyes back on his date and whatever monstrosity in pink Pansy is wearing.

And when he kisses Parkinson later, in that clumsy way of being fourteen, if he sees large brown eyes and fuller lips he would never admit such a thing.

In fifth year Draco bought into his Father's promises and allied himself with what he assumed to be "the winning side".

Draco's own belief in pureblood supremacy had found some hairline fractures that were becoming cracks. In his earlier years, he truly believed he was inherently better. His family was wealthy and powerful and ancient as written history. How could a young boy not believe he was born for greatness? Logic followed his very birth was a catalyst for that future.

By the time he reached Hogwarts, his opinions had broadened to include nuance. Sure, he was still a superior being. Well-born and well-bred, he whole-heartedly clung to this notion with the kind of assurance that youth brings. But for the question as what to do with muggleborns? The Chamber of Secrets had started his mind down a questioning path. Sure they needed to know their place, but what exactly did that mean? To Draco it meant they should understand that purebloods should hold the power. Purebloods come naturally to magic, have the most experience, and have no ties to the dangerous muggles crawling the earth.

But words were starting to be thrown around in dark corridors and Nocturne Alley like "extermination" and "eradication".

Draco thinks he is at the top of the food chain, he believes he is better than many creatures: A puppy for instance. That doesn't mean he wants to wipe out the canine species...

Over the next two years his opinions splintered even further to almost confusion. Muggles are dangerous, he agrees. They had, in the course of history, done much harm to his world and his culture. Witch trials, the death of the old rituals, the absconding of ancient beliefs in favor of modern religious trappings. Keeping his world secret is vital and muggleborns are the connection that could destroy it all.

Then there is Hermione Granger. Not to mention dozens of other students and even Tracy Davis of his own hallowed house. If we agree muggles are a threat, then what must be done with the families of these witches and wizards? Indeed of the students themselves.

The zealotry of the Death Eaters is too black and white for Draco's clever and learned mind. He has studied history, both wizard and muggle to better understand his world. What the Dark Lord preaches is genocide in its purest form. How is that a viable solution? How is it sustainable? How is it even smart?

These thoughts are dangerous so Draco stubbornly just stops having them. Instead he clings in that year to Umbridge who seems to have all the power. He delights in being a part of her elite squad and puts bushy-haired Gryffindors far from his mind. Though he is on occasion still plagued by the uneasy truth that he thinks of her when he shouldn't. Alone in the dark at night, adolescent fantasy becoming a part of his daily routine, he runs his hands through her silky curls and tastes the milky curve of her neck.

He is grateful when Snape suggests he learn Occlumency. "For the war," his Godfather had said. Draco is smart enough to know it is for protection from his own people as much as anything.

At the end of that tumultuous year, his Father was sent to Azkaban. He was bitter and angry. His hatred for Potter and Dumbledore grew to something more mature, less schoolyard.

Yet, deep within, under layers of Occlumency walls, he also knows his Father would be safe at home if he'd not followed Him so blindly. What more wealth and power did they need? How else could they further their family? They tied themselves to a madman with a God complex and a, in Draco's never-voiced opinion, naïve and grandiose lack of plan for the future.

So began Draco's sixth year and the task that will get him killed. The Dark Lord is displeased, to put it mildly. Draco's mission is basically impossible and he is more than aware that his family is being punished for falling out of favor. He knows every Death Eater at Voldemort's disposal will be gleeful when the young Malfoy fails, ready to step in to pick up the gauntlet and prove themselves a most worthy right hand.

In the end, it is his Mother that has kept him on task. Her frightened eyes haunt him in dreams and he can hear her sobs in his waking hours. Her husband had been sent away and her home invaded by a snake and his very base, very crass group of followers.

Draco had grinned at the Dark Lord when he was offered the mark. He peacocked and postured and paraded himself amongst his home and then his Hogwarts house. He pretended not to realize he was a punishment for his Father's failure. Instead he assured that he was _chosen_ from amongst so many potential followers and recruits.

All of this... all of the years and all of these memories and for all of his clever thoughts and evolved, educated thinking, all has led here, to this moment: A broken teenage boy choking on his own blood in a girl's lavatory.


	3. The Way Forward

Chapter 3: The Way Forward

Pomfrey is her usual curt self when Hermione reaches the hospital wing. She refuses to let anyone in to see Draco in his current state but assures her she has worked her metaphorical and literal magic and he will be just fine. She grudgingly gives some credit to Snape for his quick battlefield response as well. With nothing further she can accomplish here, Hermione continues to her second destination, all the while trying to rehearse what she will say but having absolutely no clue how to start.

When Hermione enters the headmaster's office she is surprised to find he is not alone but rather engaged in conversation with her brooding former Potions master. She gives pause as she takes him in, balancing who he is, now that two warring sets of memories fight for her feelings on the man. She is struck with many emotions at once. There is anger there, for the way he has treated her the past few years. There is wariness, not being sure who this man is in this life. There is sorrow, knowing suddenly more about where he comes from. There is an odd relief, in knowing he is so much more than he appears.

But mostly there is guilt. The changes she wrought, the magic she weaved, has turned him far more dark and miserable than he had to be.

"Ah, Ms. Granger. A pleasure as always. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?" She might imagine it, but there is almost a sarcasm at the word "unexpected". Damn the man for always seeming to know more than he should.

"Sir, I need to talk to you... about the war. And Voldemort. I'm hardly sure where to begin..." She drifts off and spares another glance at Snape. "Do you think I might ask for a private discussion?"

"I am sure, dear girl, whatever you came to say will be of interest to Severus as well as myself if it involves such very important topics."

Hermione ponders a moment, chewing her lip and eyes focused intensely on nothing at all. The headmaster waits in silence, allowing her to wage her internal battle.

She looks up then and asks her professor, "What is your patronus, Sir?"

If Snape is surprised by the question he hides it with a sneer. Glancing at Dumbledore who nods for him to continue, he bites out, "Not that it is any business of yours but my patronus is a deer, Ms. Granger."

"A doe?" She clarifies, receiving a curt nod in return. "For Lily Evans?"

Snape's eyes narrow after widening by an infinitesimal amount. "I fear you have me at a disadvantage. It seems you are privy to information beyond what you rightfully should."

Hermione looks back at her headmaster and gestures to the chairs in front of his desk. "Can I sit, sir? We may be here a little while."

Albus motions for her to take a seat and then to the matching chair next to hers. "Severus, if you would join us please?"

With his signature swirl of robes, Snape sits hard yet seems to glide into the chair. In another life, Hermione may have giggled. Called him a vampire. She very nearly does then remembers: That life doesn't exist anymore, only her memories of it. The reality of her actions sweeps sorrow over her. In her selfishness, she effectively destroyed the people who were meant to be. Dumbledore seems to notice her demeanor and holds out a glass dish.

"Butterscotch?" When she shakes her head to decline he leans back and eyes her with those sparkling blue eyes but also with an uncharacteristic wariness. "It seems you have perhaps a story to tell? When you're ready, child."

"Yes, sir." She pauses and concentrates on 3 deep breaths. Yoga breathing. Exhale longer than you inhale, slow your body.

It doesn't seem to be working.

When the memories first came, her thoughts were primarily Draco. Seeing him simultaneously alive but also in great peril, she was overcome with relief and fear and sadness.

Now the true reality is starting to kick in. The world is irrevocably changed. People are dead. Some are alive. The war is a different animal than it was before. Harry...

Her breath hitches when she realizes. Harry will never forgive her. There's no reason he should.

She starts very quietly, head down, curls falling around her face. "I didn't intend... I knew it would be different. Counted on it to be different but..."

Hermione looks up and focuses on Dumbledore, unable to meet Snape's piercing gaze as now the guilt is even stronger. "I didn't understand how much would have to change. Didn't do enough research." Snape snorts beside her at the idea of Gryffindor's golden girl failing to read enough about something.

She glances at him in annoyance but looks away quickly when she feels her eyes burn with tears. She knows they will eventually come but that needs to wait. Everything has to wait.

"Harry Potter's family didn't have to die that night. In fact, I don't think they were supposed to. Voldemort could have been weakened, but not in the same way. His death drove him mad it seems and he is far more dangerous now than he was seventeen years ago because of it. And that," another deep breath as she locks eyes with Dumbledore yet again, "is my fault."

"You will need to be a bit more detailed, I'm afraid. That seems a lot of responsibility to put on yourself. You were but an infant when these things occurred."

"I can help try to make things better now," she throws out quickly. "I know some things that will help. I know about the horcruxes and I can find most of them. At least, I'm pretty sure I can."

"Now _that_ , Ms. Granger, is a very interesting assertion. You have my full attention, but how have you come by this knowledge?"

"I suppose, if you have time, I should start at the beginning?" Encouraged by his nod and with one last mournful look at Severus Snape, she begins.

"You see the first time I remember coming to Hogwarts, I fell in love with Draco Malfoy."

XXXXXXXX

"It's like living in a nightmare. Everything is different." Hermione rubs her face with her open palm and looks back up at Severus Snape.

After her meeting with Snape and Dumbledore, she hadn't known what to expect. But of all the things she might have considered, having her potions master stop her in the corridor and ask for private audience had not been one. Dumbledore had dismissed her after her story was told, saying he needed to "ponder on the way forward" in his usual vague, flippant, twinkly-eyed way. He promised to call for her sometime tomorrow.

If there is any absolutely parallel between her two lives, her two worlds, it is that Albus Dumbledore is fucking infuriating.

"Yes I'm sure it is all very difficult but you need to focus on what is important: What is different about the war." His tone is vehement and edging on desperate. Nothing like the Severus she knew in her past life or the dodgy Professor Snape she identifies with this one.

"It's worse and I fear it will be even more so before it gets better. Before, when Voldemort failed to kill the Potters, he was weakened and forced into hiding. Scraping together followers, losing the support of anyone with any real power... he was a cheap terrorist. A powerful wizard, don't misunderstand, but nothing like what he is becoming with the ministry engaging in coverups and all the old families rallying to his side."

"Not all, Ms. Granger. Be careful when you speak in absolutes. Especially when these same questions come from other people. Untrustworthy people."

"I'm not sure how I'm supposed to know who is trustworthy, Sev-… sorry, I mean Professor." She grimaces at the continued mistake using his given name. "In the war I remember, the Malfoys were allies. I'm fairly sure that is no longer the case." Sadness sweeps over in waves.

Snape's attention falls out the window of the classroom in which they are currently standing and he seems to focus on something for a moment. "He's in deep, you know. I don't know if I can get him out."

"Who do you... oh." And she knows.

Draco.

"Is he marked?"

A pause and then the most imperceptible nod.

A panic rises in her chest. Hardened war heroine or not, aged more mature than she appears, the thought of Draco sends her into a flurry of panic. All of this, everything she has done, all she has sacrificed... all for him and she might not be able to save him?

"I can't accept that." He starts to speak and she continues over him. "I won't accept there is nothing that someone can do. _I_ can't obviously. He..." she takes a shuddering breath before continuing, trying to ignore her heart entirely and think with her head. "He wouldn't take my help if offered. Not you either, your position is difficult already... Dumbledore then? The Order. Let me be very clear: I destroyed a world for him. I won't lose him to that trumped up snake now."

"Don't say that too loudly, girl. Voldemort himself might change his stance on blood status to secure you, knowing what you can do. Dangle Draco Malfoy over you like a carrot to entice this… Hermione Granger, destroyer of worlds." He gives her a wry look and almost... almost... smiles.

"I miss you," she says, much to both of their surprise. "You're... you were a friend. Mentor. You taught me a love of potions and said I was unmatched, aside from yourself of course." A humourless laugh escapes her and she stares off for a moment, suddenly sad for a whole new reason. "Draco, you, Sirius… the landscape of my dearest friends... all dead or filled with hatred of me."

She looks back and meets his gaze. "Harry will never forgive me for what I've done. I destroyed his life. The Order will despise me just as much. We had won the war. Horcruxes gone, Voldemort dead, it was all over and I changed everything for one man. I've nothing left."

Her eyes sting and she moves toward the door before he can say a word in response. Whether or not he would have replied is lost when she pauses with her hand on the knob and looks back. "Tell Dumbledore he needs to find a way. I'll help if I can but he has to find something to get Draco out of this. I've got to get back before anyone notices I'm gone but tomorrow I expect to start making plans. About everything."

"Foolishly, I am pinning hope on you, Ms. Granger."

Hermione leaves without another glance back and heads toward Gryffindor tower. She stops just long enough to peer into the hospital wing, finding Draco asleep alone in the cavernous room. The rise and fall of his chest seems so fragile just now. She knows what it looks like when his breathing stops.

She is grateful when the common room is empty and she can sneak into her room without questions:

Why are you late? Where have you been? Have you been crying?

Yes, she absolutely has.

XXXXX

"Did you know?"

"I don't... what do you mean?" Hermione blinks at her friend, hoping she can still call him that. He was a friend in her old life but in this one he is nearly everything to her. Hermione is two women now: The persecuted mudblood with only Harry and Ron to keep her afloat in this world; but she is also a warrior, brilliantly led by the top mentors in the wizarding world to become a confident and formidable witch.

Where will this leave her when the dust settles?

"Did you know what would happen, Hermione? Did you know you would kill my family? Sentence Sirius to a fate worse than death? Destroy _everything_!?"

His voice has risen and his cheeks flush with anger Hermione rarely associates with Harry Potter. "No. No, Harry I swear I didn't. I knew something had to change of course. I thought maybe it would be something small. A Death Eater in a different place or the final battle on a different day or... I don't know something inconsequential. I was just... Gods, Harry I was so desperate and scared and I had only just started researching the material. As a precaution. Dumbledore was afraid we were underestimating Voldemort and Severus thought we needed something as a back up-"

"'Severus' now is it? That's very cozy. Was he a vicious wanna-be Death Eater there too?"

Hermione wills the tears to remain in her eyes. She dare not blink or they might cascade down her face. "He wasn't. He was a friend. Used to play Wizard's Chess with James every Thursday night. You hated it."

She tries to smile but suddenly the emotion wins and she is back in her old life, mourning the loss of it and reliving the sweetness all the same. The first tear comes and she stops trying to hold them back.

"You were always annoyed they commandeered the parlor and drank all the fire whiskey but didn't invite you. I went sometimes, to visit, and you and I would talk Quidditch or gossip about your latest fling. We weren't... as close there. Maybe because you were a bit different. Still _you_ to the core but more care-free. You were so popular and your Dad was a legend because he was like Fred and George, not because he was a martyr. And I was just this muggleborn teacher's pet, always hanging around with Snape and Lupin in my spare time."

She breaks now and sinks into herself, the cozy Gryffindor couch swallowing her with its comfort that does little to soothe. The sobs come, wracking her frame and suddenly she's overwhelmed all over again. She's not even sure what she is lamenting. Her old life? Severus? Draco lying in his blood, begging her to let him bleed out so it wouldn't hurt anymore? A wizarding world on her side of the war instead of denial and prejudice? Or maybe her new life that is slipping away? The anger and hatred on Harry's face? The crush on Ron Weasley that was so innocent and sweet but now pales against her deep devotion to a man that would gladly see her dead? Draco's cold grey eyes and the snarl in his voice when he addresses her as Mudblood or Granger as if her surname is poison?

All of it, she thinks. All of it and she can't imagine having anything left.

She is surprised when she feels the sofa dip beside her and an arm wraps around her shoulders. He doesn't say "it's alright" because it's _not_ but he shushes gently and rubs his thumb against her upper arm.

"I didn't know, Harry. I _promise_ I didn't know." She's gasping out the words and choking on salt and her hands shake until she wraps her arms around her middle, physically and symbolically holding herself together. "I'm so sorry, Harry. I'm so fucking sorry I didn't... Gods, it's too much."

When her tears slow and her breathing begins to even out, Harry removes his arm but doesn't leave her side. He's quiet for a long time as she collects herself more completely.

"I'm sure..." he starts slowly, tasting the words... "I'm sure you didn't do it on purpose, 'Mione. I love you but this is... this is just hard to understand. I just... I think I just need some time. To figure out what's next I guess. I don't know, I just need some time, alright?"

She nods, knowing this is a separation. She will lose Ron in the mix as well, as he will no doubt take Harry's side. She doesn't even blame him. Either of them. "I know. It's probably more than I deserve. I've... I ruined so much. I didn't think. I _always_ think, Harry but I...I just didn't."

"I guess now we know why you ended up here instead of Ravenclaw," he offers with the smallest hint of humour.

She snorts but it sounds more like a sob.

"We'll talk soon ok? Just, I need a few days. I won't… I won't tell anyone else yet. Not even Ron."

"I won't bother you unless you approach me first, Harry." He starts to speak but she stands to leave and heads out of the room. At the portrait, she looks back as it swings open. "I'm really so sorry, Harry. I hope you can at least forgive, even if this changes us."

She leaves without a word and slumps against the wall in the corridor next to the now closed portrait. The Fat Lady gives her a suspicious look so she moves on down the hall, half stumbling with no purpose in mind. It's really not a surprise when she finds herself looking into the hospital wing, watching Draco sleep as she has so many times now. He's so beautiful it makes her ache. Her hearts lifts just to see him alive but she's split in two with the anguish knowing she can't even sit at his bedside.

Instead, Pansy Parkinson sits sniffling, holding the hand of Hermione's lover and looking every bit the dutiful girlfriend. Hermione thinks this Pansy doesn't know what duty is. Or loyalty or sacrifice or actual fucking _love_.

The Slytherin girl looks up then and sneers and Hermione across the room. She finds herself narrowing her eyes in response and taking a significant look at the boy sleeping in the bed. She's not sure exactly what that look portrays but knows it's _something_ by the way Parkinson seems to start before glaring back and grasping Draco's hand more intently. Hermione leaves her then, knowing Draco is at least safe and her mind whirring around how to keep him that way. She has given Albus Dumbledore two days but she's ready to move forward and decides then and there to make another visit to the Headmaster's office."

She finds him waiting for her. He smiles but the twinkle in his eye is dim.

"Sir." She greets him and sits, waving away the lemondrop he offers from a crystal bowl.

"Can I assume, Ms. Granger, you would like to continue our conversation now that we've had time to assess your horcrux theories?"

"They're not theories, Albus," she forgets herself and falls back into her other war mode. She is an order member and a woman in the body of a student and a girl. "I know things are different but from what I can tell, it started the night he killed Harry's parents. That's where the spell takes effect. The cup, the diadem, the locket,… are you any closer to obtaining them?"

"Some yes, some no," comes his infuriating answer.

"This is not a game you know. Do you need me to hand them to you gift wrapped with a bow? You asked me to lay low but I'm getting nervous. Draco will have no choice but to make another attempt on your life."

"Mr. Malfoy is not prepared to move forward quite yet. But yes, he will soon."

She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms and leaning back in the chair. "The Albus I know was a little faster to move on good intel."

"I'm going to take Harry to retrieve the locket."

"But that's… it's not even the real locket! Why would you do that?"

"There is a course of events that need to be followed, Ms. Granger. You lived a rich life, fought valiantly and won a war, but things are different here. I need Harry, _this_ Harry, to follow me down the rabbit hole as it were."

She pauses a moment and then sits up, leaning her elbows on his desk. "You're going to let him kill you aren't you. You're going to make Draco into a murderer so you can fulfill some hero's journey father figure role for Harry. That's…you can't do that to him."

"If he doesn't kill me, Ms. Granger, this curse surely will. I will give him every opportunity to change his mind but in the end, he will do what he must and I will allow it. For his own safety."

"And Severus? What does he have to say?"

"Professor Snape is under a vow to help Draco in his mission in absolutely any way. If Draco fails to kill me, Severus will do it for him under my orders."

"And the horcruxes? Then what?"

"Then Harry will begin his quest to destroy them and I expect that you and Mr. Weasley will aid him on that journey. You being the most important piece of all. I can't openly tell him everything I know. The ministry will be watching him and interfering. What I will leave that might seem obtuse riddles and the prattlings of an old man, will be just enough for you to infer what you need to know. Guide him, Hermione. Help him complete his quest."

"If he'll even talk to me," she mumbles.

"Have you worked out the final horcrux?"

Hermione thinks for a moment but really, she knows. She's just been denying it. "Harry. It's Harry isn't it?"

He nods at her and she continues. "But he can survive it. You're making him strong. Making him… complete. That's why you're so intent on this path forward."

"Yes. I have absolute faith that our Mr. Potter will make it through this war. On the same topic, it would be advisable to leave the diadem as one of the last remaining items to destroy. It is right here, under your nose, and easy to access. Leaving it may serve to lull Mr. Riddle into a false sense of security."

Hermione nods in agreement. "We'll start with the true locket, then the cup I suppose."

"Have you told anyone what you know? Who you truly are? Does anyone know what you've done outside of Severus and myself?"

"Harry. I told Harry. He's not said anything to anyone else."

"I would advise you," he says slowly, "not to include anyone else in that knowledge at this time. The Dark Lord would find you very tempting indeed. Muggleborn or not, he wouldn't be able to deny your immense potential."

"Snape said something similar."

Dumbledore nods. "Severus and I, if you would believe, often think on the same lines."

"When will you take Harry to find Regulus' locket?"

"Soon, Ms. Granger. Mr. Malfoy has nearly completed his task, he needs only tweak the cabinet a bit more and he will be ready. I need to do this with Harry before then."

She stares across the room, a frown on her face for a long time before he speaks again. "It will all work out, in the end. I have said before and you are the proof, there is no more powerful force in this world than love."

The air is heavy and she can tell the look on his face belies he thinks he has said something very meaningful. He seems surprised when she snorts. "I undid a whole world for love. Powerful, yes. But foolish, sir. Love is foolish."

She leaves then, and knows she might not speak to her headmaster again.

XXXXXXX

Draco is in a haze. He seems to be caught between sleep and what he was just sure was to be his death. But no, he is alive after all. Fucking Potter. He has enough energy to seethe but little else. This is certainly not what he needed. Doesn't he have enough with which to concern himself this year? He's been stuck in the hospital now for three days and the stress of knowing the cabinet is so close is killing him. And what of the Dark Lord? Is he disappointed in Draco? Is his mother paying the price?

He feels the dip of someone's weight on the edge of his bed, their hip pressed into his. Draco isn't sure if he wants to pretend to sleep through it or if he is relieved to have company. When he feels a soft hand stroke his cheek he knows it must be Pansy and his eyes fly open, his mouth poised to tell her in no uncertain terms not to touch him with such familiarity.

Then it's not Pansy.

He finds himself looking up into the dark, sad eyes of Harry Potter's friend mudblood and he's struck speechless before he can utter a sound.

"How do you feel?" She takes the hand away from his face but lays it lightly on his chest. She seems so sure. Like she belongs there. As completely outrageous as that is in theory, her confidence makes him doubt his own grasp on reality.

"Like a Hippogriff sat on me... then sliced me open with some bloody wretched hex. Where the fuck did Potter learn that?"

"I'm so sorry, Draco."

 _Draco?_ That's new. The sound of his name on her lips is all kinds of wrong but again her lack of hesitation renders him mute.

"I told Harry not to mess about with things he didn't understand. He really didn't even mean to hurt you. Not, at least, like this." Her eyes close and she takes a shuddering breath. When she reopens her lids, there is a new determination glaring through the tearful sheen of her eyes. "If I can help it no one will hurt you again."

He opens his mouth to speak, perhaps to tell her what an impossible promise that is given his current circumstances and affiliations, but she continues, pulling her hand from his chest and holding it a few inches from his mouth, indicating silence.

"I know this doesn't make any sense to you. I'm not sure it would make sense to me if I didn't know...but I can't see you like this again. I've seen you, bloody and beaten and watched the light go out of your eyes and I just can't..." Her breath hitches on the last word and she closes her eyes.

"Granger, I don't know what the hell you're talking about but I think I've indulged this long enough." He tries to sound confident and forceful. In fucking control. But the rasp of his weak voice does little to make him sound strong. He is hoarse and he forces the words out as best he can.

She looks down with renewed sorrow and then places both hands delicately on either side of his face, her body leaning over his until her chest is pressed against his shoulder and her quivering lip is nearly close enough to taste.

"I know you think you hate me. But we could have been different...we _were_ different. And it's my fault. I just wanted you to be safe and I destroyed the man I love. I love you, no matter what you think of me or my blood or my family. I may have doomed us all for a chance to see you again. I wish I could tell you..."

She searches his face a moment and then mumbles equal parts affection and heartbreak, "you're so young…"

Draco Malfoy has never seen such sadness in his short life. Even watching his Mother pine for the man his Father was before he followed a madman down a dark path. Even watching her break down in what she thought was the solitude of her private parlor on the day Draco was marked.

Ignoring her last comment, unsure if it is a lament for youth fighting a war, he goads her once again to give up what he knows must be a ploy. "I don't know what you're playing at, but you hate me just as much as I hate you," he accuses her with something resembling confidence.

She tries to laugh but it comes out a sob and suddenly her lips are pressed against his and he can taste a tear that slips down her cheek and runs the seam of his mouth. He's too weak to push her away if he wanted to. It's not lost on him that he's not sure if he does.

Her lips ghost over his when she speaks. "I've never hated you. I just forgot that I loved you, for a time."

Suddenly she is standing and looking down at him, wiping her eyes and taking a deep, cleansing breath. "I'm going to do what I can to help you… keep you safe. I failed at that in another life but I have the benefit of two lives at my disposal. I'll be smarter this time."

As she walks quickly from the room, he sees her nearly collide with Parkinson and there is a moment he would swear she starts to speak to the other girl. She must think better of it and continues on her path.

After she has finished fleeing the room, Pansy looks at him, eyebrows raised and he gives her a look in return that is full of absolutely honest confusion.

XXXX

It's three days later when Draco sees her again. He's just been released from his mandatory bed rest and is in no mood for Gryffindors that seem to talk in circles.

He sees her step hesitantly out from behind a stone pillar and hold his gaze. He knows she is looking for an audience but what does the stupid bint expect him to do? Crabbe and Goyle flank him currently as they walk down the corridor toward the potions classroom and she… what? Thinks he's going to stop for a chat?

With an inward groan he pauses, causing the meatheads to his sides to do the same. "I've forgotten my notes from last class. Go ahead and I'll meet you there. Save me a seat so I don't end up next to some bleeding Gryffindor." They grunt their assent and continue on as Draco makes as if to retreat back toward the dungeons with a leisurely pace.

Once they've turned the corner he stops short and turns toward the girl, glaring at her as he approaches. "Not smart, Granger. What the fuck are you thinking?"

"I'm sorry. You're not easy to catch alone."

"Yes well that's sort of the point don't you think? Now what the fuck do you want?"

"I just wanted to tell you, I know what you have to do. For Him. I know you're supposed to kill-"

With that he backs her behind the pillar from which she emerged, pressing her against the wall in an alcove with his arm trapping her chest, not quite high enough to be choking her at the neck. "Do you have a fucking death wish?"

She shakes her head, eyes wide. "No. I just wanted you to know you're going to be alright."

"Of course I'm going to be alright. I question _your_ safety if you decide to act like an idiot. I thought you were smarter than that. Filthy muggle yes, but not completely daft."

"It doesn't really matter what happens to me now. I've lost nearly everything. But I didn't give it all up to see you hurt. Just, carry on with your plan and it will be fine. He'll let you, if you just do it right; get him alone. He doesn't want to see you killed."

He releases her now and backs up a step. "I don't know what you think you're talking about but you've lost your mind."

Her face is calm and a little sad and that's what terrifies him the most. She's like a ghost come to deliver a prophecy, speaking in vague riddles with striking melancholy.

"I've finished the cabinet for you," she says with no ceremony and his jaw drops. He takes a further step away, his back now nearly exposed to the corridor, and tries to speak but he doesn't know what to say.

"You could have," she reassures. "I've no doubt. You're brilliant and you were already so close. I think the pressure has just been too much." Now she is the one that crowds his space. Reaching up with slightly trembling hands, she cups his face softly, the sadness still in her eyes but a determination as well. "Gods, you're so beautiful," she breathes.

They stand like that a moment. Draco is aware he should be backing away, or batting her hands from his face, or sneering hatefully, or... something. But he's struck dumb by her earnest chocolate eyes and her skin so barely touching his. Her eyes search his and finally she says, "I miss you," before dropping her hold on his face and brushing by him, back to the corridor from which they came.

When he finally breaks free from whatever hold that kept him still, he stalks back out to the hall after her to find her already vanished around the corner. On her way to potions no doubt. It's all he can do not to glance her way when he finally reaches the classroom, throwing himself into the chair next to Blaise Zabini that it seems his cohorts saved for him. _Thank Merlin I don't have to partner with one of their ignorant arses_ , he grouses to himself. He may be a lamb for Voldemort's slaughter but he'd like to not fail Potions, thanks very much.

Somehow he keeps his gaze from falling on the Gryffindor that has invaded his thoughts and his life, but he wastes no time in bolting from the room once they are dismissed by Slughorn. Making his way to The Room, he paces in front of the invisible door until it reveals itself. Once it appears, he rushes through the veritable junk until he finds the blasted cabinet that has haunted his dreams for months. Shoving a bird he has kept caged inside, he holds his breath, hoping that the magic will work... or maybe that it won't?

Because that means his time is up. Because that means Granger has some truth in her. Because if she knows about this and helped him does that mean everything else she said, confusing as it was, is true? For so many reasons, dread mixed with relief, when he opens the door and finds the bird chirping in agitation instead of keeled over dead, he slides down to the floor and sobs.


	4. The Way He Knows Her

Chapter 4: The Way He Knows Her

Though she had hoped for the best, the death of Albus Dumbledore was imminent. He had been right of course. Had he not been murdered by Snape as per the plan he himself had concocted, the horcrux curse had been killing him.

In the aftermath, Hermione worries for Draco. Harry says he was lowering his wand in the astronomy tower. He nearly avoided being dragged completely away from her into the Death Eater ranks. She had hoped Dumbledore might break through to him, however the world she has created is not so kind to him in the end.

The horcrux hunt is difficult but at least she has her oldest friends at her side. Harry seems to have forgiven her and for that she is more grateful than she can say. They spend long hours discussing their future, laying out strategy. Sometimes, he just wants to hear about what could have been. About what _was_. Hermione, for her part, gives herself over to the fight and makes every effort not to think about Draco Malfoy. At least not until this is all over.

Unfortunately, there are things that Hermione can't control. The temper of her friend Ron is one of those things. He senses there is a secret being kept, a bond between her and Harry. Their quest is interrupted when the snatchers come and drag them away to face Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Where did you get this sword? Where?!"

"We found it – we found it, we didn't steal anything… - PLEASE!"

Hermione has been writhing on the parlor floor in what she knows to be Malfoy manor. She has memories of this room, conflicting with the reality she now lives. Draco's mother and father greet her with grace and hospitality. Narcissa gives her a warm if slightly weak hug and Lucius bends gallantly over her hand, brushing her knuckles with his lips.

But no, Narcissa is staring on with cold eyes, seeming to ignore the scene before her. Lucius looks anxious and she knows he is just hoping she will break so they will have something... _anything_... to offer to their Lord.

And there is her Draco. Not standing beside her, warm hand on the small of her back, quipping at his Father not to be too familiar with his witch. No this Draco is staring down at her in horror. She's not sure if that's because she hinted to him what could have been? Or perhaps he's never seen someone tortured in this way. Maybe Bellatrix seems particularly unstable this afternoon and he doesn't know what to make of it. She's not sure, but he looks afraid and disgusted.

Though he makes no move to help.

Hermione knows she will get no aide from her should-be lover. He's too terrified. Instead she locks eyes with Lucius, the only Malfoy that seems able to meet her eye. Somewhere she knows she is still screaming for the pain to stop, begging to be believed that they didn't steal the blasted sword. But her thoughts are split and the rest of her is begging Lucius Malfoy to look inside, her mind open and unguarded if he would but _look_.

Her concentration breaks when the Crucio hits and she can't even look in a direction any more. Her head strikes the polished floor, her body bleeding on that gorgeous tapestry rug from Great-Grandfather Hyperion Malfoy. Hermione fears if she arches her back at any sharper an angle she might snap her spine. It's been a long time since she felt anything like this. Since her first go around in the war, and even then it the duration was not so extreme. Mercifully it breaks as Bella ends the torture in favor of her knife, continuing to carve into her flesh.

The irony is not lost on Hermione that she finds this also-painful torture to be a mercy.

She snaps her head again to Lucius and pleads with her eyes. _Look inside_ , she thinks at him. She is laid bare and begging with everything she has that he will notice. It doesn't even occur to her he might not be a Legillimens.

In the end it is Dear Aunt Bella who assists her.

"Draco."

His head snaps to the lunatic astride Hermione's body and he backs away a slight step. Hermione wonders if he is afraid to be invited in on the torture. She also wonders if that is exactly what is about to happen.

"Look in her head. I know Snape has been teaching you. Look inside and find out where she stole the sword. What else she may know."

"I... I've not been..." he denies, voice shaking. "Snape has been focused on defense. Occlumency. I don't know if I-"

She cuts him off with a wave of her hand. "Worthless boy," she scolds under her breath. "Lucius then. Dig into her pretty little head and tell me what you find."

The relief in Hermione is palpable and she thrusts what she wants seen to the surface. She feels when her mind is invaded. He is not gentle and it mentally rips her apart. She can feel he is frantic and rushed but she can work with it as long as he will take her bait. He sifts through bits and pieces of her. Some moments are embarrassingly intimate and he doesn't seem to linger there, but she can feel his confusion bleeding through as he sees things he can't possibly believe to be real.

She finally takes control of his tour through her head and cherry picks memories for his viewing pleasure.

First she shows him the image of Voldemort as he fell in Her War. His snakelike visage frozen in nearly comical surprise and his body decaying as time takes its justice for his cheated life. His remaining Death Eaters are being cut down around him or running in terror and disbelief. She remembers looking at Lucius at the end (before she and Draco went to chase down some escaping Death Eaters; a decision that haunts her now), and how he had offered a triumphant grin, nodding his acknowledgment to her and his son. The Dark Lord is vanquished, quite handily at that. This is the reality she wants Lucius to accept. His cause is not only unjust, but folly. Even if she dies in this war, she does not believe that Voldemort is strong enough to win in the end. Maybe he could win in Britain but that would only bring the whole of the world down upon him. The muggle world, if faced with his ridiculous idea of extinction, will get involved in a serious fire and brimstone, bombs and guns, hellfire and apocalypse-come-to-earth response. She hopes he is shaken.

Next she shows him a moment of just the two of them. Lucius is fiddling with a muggle cellular phone and trying to make sense of the technology.

"So I just talk into it and someone can hear me? And respond?"

"Well yes. I mean, you have to key in a number first. Every phone has a specific number; a code. You turn the phone on, key in who you intend to call, and voila! Instant connection."

"It's... well I must say it's a bit faster than an owl."

She chuckles. "Less mess as well. No feeding. No cages."

"But only if the person I wish to reach has such a device as well?"

"True. Draco and I both have one and we plan to give one to Narcissa for her birthday. Really who else could you need?" She offers a cheeky grin and Lucius Malfoy, pureblood wizard from the most notable sacred 28 house, nods in response and pushes the phone back in her direction.

"Show me the code for Draco. I'll surprise him."

She keys in Draco's number as well as her own to his contact list and teaches him how to access. As unknown to muggle electronics as the man is, he is bright and quick to learn. When his son answers his call a true smile lights his usually stoic and proper face. They speak briefly. When they bid their farewells, Lucius turns to Hermione and gives her a brief one-armed hug.

"Thank you, Ms. Granger." He gives her a wicked little smile and goes on. "Let's see that son of mine ignore my missives now."

Last, one of her most precious memories, she shows him a private and cherished moment. It is Christmas, almost one year before the end of the war. She is in this very room, the Malfoys around her.

Narcissa picks up a daintily handled cup and sips at the eggnog Hermione made herself. It is her Grandmother's recipe. Full of Peppermint Schnaaps and tasting of pure holiday. She comments, "Hermione, my darling, this is just delightful. You must let the elves know the secret so we can enjoy it together each year."

She smiles in response, pleased to have found something the matriarch can appreciate. It is terribly hard to impress a lady that has always had everything. "Of course! I'll owl it over tomorrow to the kitchen team."

"Since we all have a drink," her lover begins from beside her, "I thought I might offer a toast?"

The family looks to their son and heir and Hermione looks at him in question. Draco never offers to give speeches or make grand gestures. Having tired of such things after years of the expectation of his upbringing, he only seems to do so now if explicitly asked.

"I'd just like to say to my family, thank you. Your support these last years have helped me find my path. Once Severus moves to Defense this coming year, Headmaster Dumbledore has offered me the position of Potions Master."

Narcissa gasps and raises a delicate hand to cover her mouth in dramatic surprise. "Oh, my dove, that's wonderful news!"

"Congratulations, son." Lucius is reserved in response but Hermione can tell he is beaming with pride. "Of course I expect you will still take your responsibility seriously to Malfoy Enterprises when the time comes for me to step aside..."

Draco rolls his eyes but smiles. "Oh please, as if you will step down anytime in the next few decades. But yes, of course, Father. Though what I can do with potions in the meantime could be incredibly beneficial to our research department. I'll teach, but also use this as time for practical, hands-on endeavors."

Hermione already knew of course and simply squeezes Draco's hand while gazing across the room at his family.

She turns to him however when he tugs her hand. She looks over and finds him staring intently, his own glass of nog now resting on the small table beside him. "I also wanted to take this time, while we are all together..." He rises, never releasing her hand, and kneels beside her.

Hermione feels her heart speed in her chest and an elation overtakes her. Is he doing what she thinks?

Yes.

A simple velvet box in deep burgundy has materialized in his free hand and he's asking her a question and she's sure she knows what it was but she didn't hear him over the pounding of her pulse. She thinks she nods and she knows she's smiling and then his arms are around her and Hermione sobs/sighs into his shoulder as he whispers "I love you. I'm yours. For as long as you'll have me, you beautiful, brilliant witch."

All she can do is whisper it back as she grips his body closer to hers. "I love you. I love you. I love you, Draco. More than anything. Always..."

In a cold parlor, swimming in dark magic, Hermione's wide brown eyes focus on Lucius Malfoy who seems to be having trouble concentrating. His sister in law is screaming to know what he's found but he can't seem to speak. Chancing a look, Hermione glances at Draco now and finds him looking at his Father in confusion, then back to Hermione. In her head she just thinks, "I love you, I love you, I love..."

When Harry and Ron burst into the room, this is the scene they find. Harry disarms Draco who gives no protest and then there is the chaos as Dobby drops a chandelier on the witch who has been carving Hermione like a Christmas goose. Crystal shatters and Ron lifts Hermione from the ground, their ragtag team retreating into the mystical apparition of an elf who barely has time to breathe once they are on the other side.

Poor Dobby. Another life extinguished. Another casualty Hermione can't help but tally against her own selfish choices. Yet all she can think as she sobs in the sand is of Draco and her finger that no longer carries his ring and when they held each other and promised "I love you."

"Always."

XXXXXX

"I do hope you understand the magnitude of our fortune in this, Draco. The Dark Lord could easily have killed us all for our failure."

Draco's eyes are downcast, staring hard at the floor of his Father's study. The room is done with the same polished tile as the parlor floor where Hermione Granger cried and begged and, if he is not very much mistaken, sobbed his name. She looked thin. Thin and pale and entirely not herself but still very much her. As he'd watched her scream and bleed he'd been frozen in place and found himself thinking of her last year. Of the sincerity in her eyes when she'd said she could have loved him. _Had_ loved him, in another, lost life. He hadn't really believed her. He couldn't; It was ridiculous. Not to mention, it would have been too jarring, too distracting from what he had to do.

Then she'd laid there, bucking and arching and begging but her eyes, clear and intense, had found him briefly and he'd seen some truth he'd wanted to ignore. She pleaded with those beautiful dark eyes and she'd said his name in a way that made all other sound vanish into the void and only her delicate voice broke through.

Draco.

Not Malfoy or Ferret or snake or git or cockroach or any other name she'd thrown at him over the years. And, Merlin help him, it had sounded pitiful and heartbreaking and desperately sweet.

"Yes, Father. I know."

"Your aunt has taken the brunt of his wrath. Since she had taken it upon herself to take charge she is the one to be blamed." He's quiet for a moment and Draco looks up, wondering what has stopped what he assumed would be a tirade. Lucius eyes him with something like suspicion. "Do you have anything you need to tell me, Draco? Before you are faced with the Dark Lord and I can't protect you?"

He narrows his eyes at his Father and wonders what Lucius could be getting at. What could he know? About Granger's obsession with him? Because she whispered his name? That seems easy enough to explain: She was looking to a peer, someone from school to have sympathy.

Besides, her feelings toward him are her own and due to nothing he has done to encourage them.

The fact that he _did_ feel sympathy, that he _has_ harbored a secret admiration for her, that her wild hair and dark eyes _are_ captivating, that when she confessed her absolute love and devotion he felt inexplicable butterflies at her passion...

Well, all of that is beside the point isn't it?

"No, sir. I don't believe so. Is there something you want to discuss?"

Lucius looks as though he will deny it. A faint shake of his head and his lips forming around the word 'no' but then he steels himself and presses, "the mudblood. The Granger girl. I delved into her mind only to be met with some...curious images. What do you know of her?"

"I... she's just a mudblood. Know-it-all. Bossy. Can't fly worth a knut. She's smart though. Maybe she sent you false memories? I wouldn't put it past her to be skilled in mental defense."

Lucius turns slightly away and pulls out a small drawer from the short branch of his "L" shaped desk. Retrieving a small vile, he then lifts his wand to his temple and pulls out a silver strand of memory with great care.

Leveling his gaze at Draco, he offers the now stoppered vile in an open palm after one last hesitation. "Listen to me, son. I want you to leave for Hogwarts immediately. You are not as skilled in keeping up your defenses as you believe. There is something in your mind for the girl." Draco starts to protest but his Father lifts a hand to stop him and holds his gaze. "I know you've done nothing to encourage her feelings nor your own conflicted thoughts. It won't matter, Draco. Not to Him."

"So your solution is that I run away? To what end? What happens next time he calls me, gives me a task, sits at our fucking table to dine?!" He's not sure why he's so incensed. Perhaps the implication he has sullied himself with a dirty muggle? But no, he doesn't believe that's the cause. A bitterness wells up then and he thinks some of it might have to do with being pushed from his ancestral home to hide from a madman that was _invited_ by his very father.

The elder Malfoy only looks piercingly at his son a moment before continuing with a significant tone of voice that begs no further argument. "You will return to Hogwarts and take this to the Headmaster's office to view in the pensieve there. Do not share this with anyone save your Godfather. However I caution you may want to view them alone first and decide if you prefer to simply explain the contents rather than allow him to see first-hand."

"Why can't I just use...?" Draco gestures vaguely to the pensieve sitting in his Father's study but Lucius shakes his head.

"Not here. I want you away and safe before this is in your head. You have enough to keep under guard while in this house."

"And when I return? Forgive my earlier outburst but this is my home."

Lucius gives Draco a look steeped in regret and shakes his head again. "I do not want you to return. If your term ends before the war, go to the villa. Or the lodge. Trust me when I say your perspective will somewhat change after you see that." He points to Draco's fist, closed around the delicate vile.

Straightening and seeming to put his mask back in place, he clears his throat. "I will have one of the elves take you directly and give your Mother your love."

"She'll be... disappointed if I don't say goodbye myself."

"Narcissa will understand."

They stand a moment, looking at each other and both pondering things that will not be said. Finally, Draco nods. "Happy Easter, Father. Tell Mother I look forward to seeing her at the end of term. I'll collect my trunk."

He is almost to the door when his Father says softly and with disquieting urgency, "Don't dally, Draco."

He simply nods in response.

Draco leaves his Father's private study and stalks to his room at the other end of this wing. He is grateful to not cross paths with any wandering Death Eaters, the likes of which have defiled his home and turned his Mother into little more than a perpetual servant, seeing to the needs of Voldemort and his inner circle.

At his rooms, he locks and wards the door before turning and staring hard at the floor. He manages to simply breathe for long moments, settling his nerves. His Father has rattled him and the vial feels cold in his hand, eerie and foreboding.

This calming exercise would also be much easier if he was not replaying over and over again Hermione Granger's screams and then, more haunting, her whispering his name as she searches his face, looking for salvation and seeming to offer herself in return. Maybe he's reading too much into that moment but he doesn't believe so. Deep down believes he knows what she wanted to say: "Save me. Save me and I'm yours."

 _Draco._

XXXX

Draco's return to Hogwarts is not met with any fanfare or is indeed notable at all. After the panic to leave the manor, he had arrived at the gates and simply walked up the path. His trunk had been taken by one of the elves.. Kipsy? Pipsy? He has always had difficulty keeping them straight. All he has on him is his borrowed wand from his mother and a small vial of memories. He's anxious to see what they contain that has his father so absolutely spooked.

The grounds are quiet, even for the holidays. Few students wanted to stay behind this year. Even those with nothing to return to but an orphanage or an empty house had fled the Carrows. If he's honest, Draco did not particularly want to be around the more sadistic Death Eaters either and they have not touched him personally all year.

He wouldn't say he's been exactly "off limits". Having failed to actually kill the Headmaster, yet fixing a difficult piece of broken magic and allowing entry into one of the most protected places in Wizarding Britain, has left him in sort of a middle ground with the Dark Lord. Not favored as a general but not scorned as a failure (like his father), Draco enjoys a measure of "go along to get along" afforded to few.

He ponders this all the way to the Headmaster's office where he assumes his Godfather will be waiting. The most prominent advantage to his untimely return to the school is his ability to miss the revel that had been scheduled for the end of the hols. Weighing the options, he's not sure which is worse: Watching the Carrows torture children in the name of "discipline" or watching the lower Death Eater ranks kill muggles for sport. Watching Nagini eating a victim whole versus being forced to participate, practicing Unforgiveables on eleven year olds.

There are only impossible choices now and no place to hide from them.

"Utility." Draco doesn't have much time for amusement but he does enjoy his Godfather's passwords. After the silly sugar treats Dumbledore had used, Snape prefers the word to be no more than it needs to be.

"The magic has a purpose," he had said. "No need to add any nonsense beyond what is necessary."

When he enters, Snape is indeed seated behind his desk and looks up immediately, stress evident on his face.

He takes one look at Draco, no doubt noticing the stress he wears like a shroud. "What has that blasted girl done now?"

Draco is startled and moves to speak but is interrupted almost immediately. "Nevermind, I think it best if you don't disclose. Your father said you had need of the pensieve. Something to do with Potter's swotty cohort." He rises and gestures to the basin before heading to the door, brushing past Draco. "I'll leave you to view in private. You can decide if you want to share what you've found after I return."

At the door he looks back and gives Draco a significant look. "No matter what you disclose to me, I am bound and vowed to protect you above all else."

"Thank you, sir," he manages before the door closes and leaves him in a deafening silence.

Draco has never used a penseive but understands the general steps he is to take. Pouring the silver liquid inside, he plunges headlong into his Father's mind. The world around him shifts and takes on a dream-like quality. He understands these memories are less clear than perhaps they would be, but a memory of a memory is a fluid thing.

Draco sees a jumble of images at first, as if his Father had not been sure where to focus. He recognizes this as the results of Legilimens with an unknown goal. Lucius had been sifting around Granger's mind but not sure what he was supposed to be looking for. Almost as if a door is being held open, Lucius, and now Draco, focuses toward a particular path. It seems the girl had made it easy on his Father. Draco finds it intriguing she not only did not attempt to shield her mind but seemed to pull him forward, begging him to see all and anything.

He recognizes Granger sitting at a table in the Hogwarts library. She's a little younger, maybe fifteen? But she looks a bit different than he remembers. Her hair more tame perhaps? Her robes more fitted? She is young but there is a maturity too. Draco is surprised to see himself walk in to the room and head straight toward her. He doesn't remember this at all. Had he approached to taunt her? Is this one of those times he called her "mudblood" or teased her about her teeth or her body or her know-it-all bossy tone?

No. He struts over and flops down in the seat next to her, bumping her shoulder as he does so with something very much like affection.

"Granger." His memory-self addresses her quietly in the still of the library.

She holds up a finger as if asking for a moment to finish her thought. Her quill scratches quickly before she seems to cap her thought with a flourish, dropping a hard period at the end, and lays the quill down next to her.

When she looks up her, her face blooms into a grin and she leans forward with barely any thought, landing a kiss on the corner of Draco's upturned mouth.

The Draco watching it all is stunned. This didn't happen. It could never have happened. What is the stupid girl playing at? It occurs to him this is why his father was in such a state. If the Dark Lord saw any of this, he would be branded a traitor. Had Granger found a way to manufacture memories?

His train of thought is interrupted when he is ripped away. The scene had been all of twenty seconds. Obviously on the tour through her head, Lucius had found this as a distracted stop but it was not the meat of what he had seen.

Next is a moment at the Yule ball but Draco is twirling a laughing Hermione Granger on the dance floor instead of the pink nightmare that had been Pansy Parkinson that night. When he pulls her back to his body, molding them together and slowing their dance, she closes her eyes and nuzzles into his neck...

He is pulled away just as quickly and Draco is sitting with his parents in a restaurant he doesn't know. His mother is wearing strange clothes that look like something Granger or another mudblood might sport. Across the table is another couple he doesn't recognize. When Hermione walks in, she drops a kiss on Draco's cheek then does the same for Lucius and Narcissa before hugging the other couple and sitting next to the man. Draco reaches across the table to take her hand before the man raises his glance and says, "to my lovely daughter and her handsome fiancée..."

The scene drops away and Granger is curled up in an armchair, reading a thick tome. Severus Snape and a man that Draco could only describe as Harry Potter but older and with better hair are playing what looks to be some sort of card game. Draco sees himself enter and perches on the arm of the fireside in which Granger is seated. She looks up and smiles but the scene is gone again before she speaks...

Draco can admit it but only to himself that in the next scene Hermione Granger is beautiful. She had looked rather lovely at the Yule ball (both the real one and the one recently seen in memory) but she is older here and maturity has done wonders for the little swot.

She walks with confidence in a long skirt and tight jumper. Her heels click-clack against the stone floor in what Draco recognizes as his west hall at the manor. He watches her stop at a door he knows well and she knocks before turning the knob and peering in with a little caution.

"Draco?"

He sees his other self peek from behind the door to his en suite and smiles broadly at his witch.

His witch?

At least in these memories, that seems to be the case.

She sweeps into the room and heads straight for her lover. Draco watching the scene might have taken notice of the swing of her arse as she did so, but he'd never tell.

"Aren't you ready?"

"Perfection, love, takes some time." He winks and continues fussing with his blonde hair. Hermione approaches from behind, locking eyes with him in the mirror and wraps her arms around his waist. He is nude save a towel sitting low on this hips.

"Is that to imply I can never attain perfection? I've been ready for ages."

He scoffs, comfortable in their banter and continues to fuss. "Of course not. You're a divine creature. Always perfect. It's the rest of us lowly mortals that have to try so hard." He pauses, concentrating especially hard on an errant strand before he nods to himself and seems satisfied he is finished. "I mean it's not as hard for me as other people obviously, being a Malfoy." He smirks at her reflection before turning in her hold and gathering her in his arms. He kisses her hard and she tries to push him away.

"Draco, I've just done my make-up! You'll ruin my lips."

Turning them, he pushes her against the vanity and kisses her neck. "I can kiss other things. Wouldn't want to earn your ire."

"We really don't have the time-" She stops her own sentence with a low groan and gives in as he reaches beneath her jumper and cups her in his hands. "Maybe if we're quick..." she breathes.

He smiles against her and opens his mouth to speak when the scene shifts in possibly the most abrupt way yet. Whether Hermione pushed Lucius out or whether his father went running from the intimate moment is not clear but Draco imagines all involved are glad to move on.

Though he was a little curious to get a peak under that jumper.

The tone of the next memory is much darker in nature. Draco and Hermione are sitting at a table with a large group of other people. Some he knows, some he can guess, and some are a complete mystery. Hermione's hand is clasped in his and resting on his knee.

"He's weak. We should just do it now and be done." The man speaking, Draco can name him. Sirius Black, his cousin, seems to be holding court with the table as all eyes fix on him.

"I agree." The man has red hair and an air of "poor" about him. A Weasley, he would guess, though not one he knows. One of the older ones perhaps? Charles? Charlie? "The horcruxes are gone and his forces are the weakest they've been in a decade."

"I would like to suggest caution in this." The twinkling eyes of Albus Dumbledore cause Draco to squirm. "It may be that we are at an advantage, but we risk everything if we go forward with a full confrontation."

It is Hermione that speaks next. "There will never be a better time. If we leave him to his own devices, eventually he will make another horcrux, or encourage his generals to do so. It's time, Albus. We've been at war longer than I've been alive and I'm already tired of it. We can't keep up this stalemate another ten years. It's hurting the magical creatures more than anyone. Vampires, werewolves, giants... he won their loyalty at a time with the Wizengamot was its most corrupt but we've making inroads. We need to take him off the chess board if we want to unite the community."

There are nods all about the table. It seems Granger is respected in this circle. No one disagrees with her assessment and even their departed Headmaster nods in her direction.

"Besides," Draco pipes up, "my Mother is tired of living in Australia and I can't handle another holiday listening to her passive aggressive comments about the speed with which The Order operates."

There are a few chuckles and someone Draco doesn't know quips, "it's a good point. I've drawn short straw three times on who has to check the Malfoy wards and I'm not looking forward to choking down any more of that awful muggle Vegimite she punishes us with." More chuckles follow and Draco watches himself exchange a bemused look with the witch at his side. Her eyes sparkle with amusement but something else. She looks at him with... devotion? Love? Those eyes are like his mother's eyes when she sees him off at King's Cross.

And more surprising when Draco looks at her and sees the exact sentiment reflected back.

The scene ends but quickly moves on to what he knows his father had dwelled on. No longer does he feel as though he is sifting through a closet of memories. Lucius is now paying close attention to what he sees: The Dark Lord falls, Lucius converses with Granger with, more than simple civility, but true sincere affection, Draco on one knee declares his devotion to Hermione Granger.

Dragging himself out of the pensieve, Draco is panting and sweating with nerves. What the fuck was all of that? She's smart sure. She's an apt witch. But false memories of that nature, it's not possible. He thinks back to the night in the hospital wing.

… _you could've been different…_

… _my fault…_

… _.I've seen you, bloody and beaten…_

… _doomed us all for a chance to see you…_

… _forgot I loved you…_

Snape enters the room to find Draco heaving fast breaths and orders him to sit. "Before you collapse, you stupid boy. What did she do?"

"I don't…it's not possible." He's staring ahead at nothing at all and then his godfather is knelt down in front of him, one hand on his shoulder in an almost fatherly way.

"Do you want me to see what she showed you?"

Draco looks up and searches Snape's eyes, but he's far away and thinking about the Dark Lord. "He'll kill me…"

The headmaster shakes his head in response. "Not if he doesn't know. Your father won't tell him, I won't tell him, and you can bet Hermione Granger won't say a word. She's done too much to do anything to let you come to harm now."

He snaps his head up at that and then narrow his eyes. "What do you know?"

"Probably not the details you hold there in that pensieve but suffice it to say I am not unfamiliar with the burden with which Ms. Granger has left you."

Draco shakes his head in disbelief and watches as Snape stands and offers him a hand to help him rise. He watches his godfather wave at the pensieve and collect the silver substance back into the discarded vile. "I recommend you lay low, Draco. And, if you would put so much faith in me, allow me to keep these memories hidden here. It wouldn't do for anyone within our Lord's forces to find them on you would it?"

He shakes his head numbly and then takes his leave. In his dorm, he lays on his bed with the curtains drawn and focuses on keeping his breathing even and on the memory of Hermione Granger whispering in his ear, "I love you. Always."


	5. The Way Things End

Chapter 5: The Way Things End

Hermione leads Harry and Ron to the Room of Requirement, knowing the time has finally come to destroy the diadem. The previous year, before she left with them on their quest to hunt down the other horcruxes, she found the ancient accessory and stashed it where it could be easily retrieved amongst the piles of knick-knacks and junk within.

As they run through the corridors she allows her mind to dwell on Draco for the first time in weeks. After escaping the manor, she had steadfastly kept her mind away from Malfoy and anything else pertaining to her old life, focusing instead on finishing what they'd started and ending the war. Now that the final confrontation is so close, she lets her thoughts stray and wonders where he is.

She doesn't have to wonder long when, as she and her friends are racing back out of the room, diadem in hand, their path is blocked by none other than her lover in question and his two thick cohorts.

He looks nervous, agitated. For once, he does not seem in charge of his crew of three. Instead Crabbe steps just slightly forward.

"Well well, what have we here?"

"Looks like we found Potter," comes Goyle's unnecessary reply.

There is a short banter, posturing and strutting between Harry and Crabbe. Hermione finds Draco's eyes and all sound seems to stop. He is looking at her with something like shock and surprise and, maybe she imagines it, a certain amount of longing. She isn't sure what to do with that so she simply says, "Draco", softly. If the rest of either party notice, it doesn't deter them from the eventual outcome. There is a scuffle and a chase and then fucking Crabbe releases fiendfyre on the Room.

Ron thrusts a couple of old brooms at Harry and at her and they take themselves just below the high ceiling, trying to outrun the demon fire.

She's searching the sea of garbage when she hears Harry shout, "We can't just leave them." She looks down and only sees two silhouettes set against the backdrop of smoke and flames and for a moment her heart stops and she can't breathe. Then she realizes one of the shapes is Draco. Her Draco.

"If we die for them, Harry, I'll kill you!" Ron is shouting at their best friend but he turns his broom just the same. In that moment she is the girl of _this_ life and she remembers why she nearly loved Ronald Weasley.

Harry reaches Draco first and swings him astride his broom. Ron makes it to Goyle and hoists up the larger boy with impressive strength and then they are streaking toward the door.

They fall hard onto the stone and Hermione hears the clink of Ravenclaw's diadem drop beside them.

"The fire, Harry! Throw it in the fire!"

He looks at her in question then realization lights his face. He picks up the horcrux and pitches it hard toward the inferno. It is consumed and a shriek echoes from the room and through the corridors, the face of Voldemort appearing in tongues of flame and then vanishing as the Room doors slam shut.

"Crabbe?" Draco is sobbing and Ron sneers at him in distaste.

"Well he's bloody dead, isn't he? Stupid tosser nearly killed us all."

"Ron!" Hermione glares at him, previous affection for him waning as he taunts her lover and then she is there, her arms around Draco's shoulders and he is wracked with sobs.

"Draco? It's alright. You're safe. Look at me."

He looks up and searches her eyes as she cups his cheek and repeats earnestly, "It's alright. Everything will be alright."

"Oi! What the fuck is this?" Ron is pulling at her to make her stand but she clings to Draco and holds his gaze. He is looking at her in fear tinted confusion but he clings back just as tightly.

Then she remembers, they aren't done yet. "I have to go. I have to help Harry finish this. But after, find me. I'll tell you everything. Show you, if you want." She presses her forehead against his and says softly so the others can't hear, "I still love you. I always will."

When she tears herself from his arms, she knows she doesn't imagine that he is reluctant to let go.

XXXXXXXX

Neville was always meant to be a hero. His role here, relegated to sidekick, changes that day at the battle. He could have been the chosen one. Was, once, in another world.

They couldn't have done it without him. The snake's head leaves its body with a sickening slice of flesh. Hermione can tell Voldemort knows he's in trouble. Does he know they destroyed the rest? She is unclear on that part of horcrux lore. Does he still believe himself immortal? Or can he feel all those pieces of his soul irrevocably lost.

In the end, what he believes is irrelevant. In the end, he falls to a school boy using a first year spell.

Harry and Ron cling to her for a short time, all so full of relief and hope it's like the world disappears for just one beautiful moment. As they release each other, all wide grins and heavy breath, Hermione says she has to go. She has to find Draco. Harry gives her a knowing nod and Ron frowns in confusion.

"I'll fill him in. Go on then."

She gives Harry a grateful nod then one last embrace, one arm around each of her friends. "I love you both. I'll find you soon."

Tearing herself away, Hermione is searching frantically throughout the castle.

She finds Snape in the Great Hall as he looks over the body of Remus Lupin with obvious regret and asks if he's seen Draco. He eyes her a moment before telling her that no, he has not. But maybe, after she finds him, when things have settled from the chaos, they could have a conversation. Maybe she would like to capture a semblance of some of what she's lost. She never had lived up to her full potential in potions after all, he comments.

Minerva, overhearing, gives him a wary glance. Hermione says she would like that very much.

Continuing her search to the grounds, she stumbles upon a clearing near the forest where she remembers she turned the sky dark and watched Draco's blood seeping into the earth. She should have realized at the time, what she was risking. It was Blood Magic she was playing with after all. And she used _his_ blood to pay for her selfishness.

Losing him now, might simply be magic's price. Blood magic in particular, demands steep payment for its use.

She'd seen him, at the end, huddled with his family and backing away from the battle. She can't believe they just _left_. Doesn't he want answers? She assumes Lucius shared at least some of what he had seen. At the least, so that he might question Draco on the truth of it. Doesn't he want to know why a muggleborn girl would give everything for him?

Perhaps it was foolish to think he would.

Collapsing in a heap on the earth, she is crying ugly tears, her breath coming in wet pants, choking her and making her gasp out loud sobs. She doesn't hear his shoes crunching the dry grass, plodding on the hard earth.

"You said you'd tell me."

Hermione jumps when he speaks and he flops down beside her in the grass. "Draco? I thought…I thought you'd gone."

"How could I…" He gazes out over the field before he continues. "My father showed me. He let me see… all of it. Everything you showed him. You're clever, Granger, but not clever enough to plant that many false memories. Not clever enough to fool my father so completely."

She scoffs with just a dash of mirth. "I am actually. I'm _that_ clever. But no, I didn't trick him. What you saw… I lived that whole life. I shared that life with you until you were taken from me." She gestures around herself. "Here, in fact. The first war, this is where I lost you."

He wrinkles his nose in distaste. "What a macabre place to come have a little cry then."

She laughs, more free this time and reaches up to swipe a strand of hair out of his eyes. "There's so much more. I only showed him a little. I could show you more."

"I don't want to see it."

She drops her hand and squints her eyes closed, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. She knew better. She knew he couldn't be her Draco. Everything she's done just to end up at the end of another war, sitting cold and lonely in a bloodied field, her lover absent from her future. "I understand," she says and she moves to stand.

He reaches for her hand to pull her back down. "I just think that, I'm not him. I can never be him."

 _Why is he still talking? Doesn't he think this hurts enough?_

"I know that, Draco. I'm sorry. I don't expect-"

"I mean," he continues as though she hadn't spoke, "what I saw, what you showed us…"

He grimaces in thought, trying to find the words, how to say whatever it is will come next. She waits, just knowing he's about to shatter her heart.

He continues, hesitant but sure. "It was different there. I _deserved_ you." Her head snaps back and she studies him, holding her breath. "I was good to you and Merlin you were… you're so beautiful." She lets her arm go slack, no longer trying to get away.

"I don't want you to show me that life, the one we can't have anymore. Maybe though, I mean if you… maybe we could try for one here? I know I've not earned it and I don't know you like I should but seeing him… _me_ …we were really good together, weren't we? Maybe we can be that here. Someday."

She nods but doesn't dare move, afraid she might spook him like wild game and he'll take back everything he's just said.

"I can't tell you I love you yet. I'm not where you are. But I want it. I'm a selfish man, Hermione. Maybe I wasn't when you knew me-"

"Oh you were," she interrupts with a shy giggle.

He smiles a little in return. "I'm selfish enough to want what you offer. I'd be a fool not to try. You're possibly the most powerful witch alive and you risked everything for… for _me_. I'm not even worth that but Gods I wish I was."

Hermione takes his face in her hands and promises, "you are," before pressing her lips to his. He needs very little encouragement to accept her affection and soon he has her on her back in the soft grass, the blades dancing against her thighs and his tongue tasting hers.

"I love you," she whispers against his skin.

"I will love you," he offers back and she knows he's making a promise he can keep.


End file.
